Surprises are nice, aren’t they?
Material surprises, like presents are lovely. And phsyical presents, like someone turning up to your house or a surprise party are great.
But just the simple act of someone letting you know you are liked is almost the greatest surprise of all.
Today was my last day at the newspaper. It started with a probably-pointless exit interview, where I had to give my opinion on a range of company matters now I was departing.
I made a point of making sure the people who somehow helped to carve me into a half-decent reporter got the recognition they deserved. God knows they do because I haven’t exactly been the most compliant employee, but I’ve still improved a hell of a lot since I joined.
It seems like years (well, it is. Two in fact) since I started as a trainee reporter, fresh from university, with no qualifications and a will to impress. I leave as a trainee (still), with seven out of nine qualifications, a threat of a £250,000 writ and keen to do something else.
I also took the chance to criticse the company’s failure to get information spread to those on the ground, the reporters. They always seemed to be the last to know. Especially now, where all jobs are up in the air. For the work they do, they desrve to be kept in the loop.
The last question in the interview was “would you consider re-joining the company in the future?”. I was in a rich vein of truthfulness so put “maybe”, but after a few minutes of reflection realised that I might need a job sometime down the line so changed my answer to “yes”.
Then, when I got back to the office, I was presented with my leaving presents. That wasn’t the surprise, because I was half-expecting them, but the amount of effort that had gone into them blew me away.
It is tradition in print journalism that when a reporter leaves the paper, a mock-up front page of the paper is presented to them with memories from their time at the company. I got two pages because there were too many stories of my stupidty. It was both flattering and embarrasing at the same time.
*The ‘Widespead Problems’ headline refers to one of these stories. I re-took my driving test, hypothetically, for a feature for the paper, alongside three members of the public. We all failed and I was told by the instructor I had “widespread problems”. My colleagues have never let me forget that.
Everyone had really put a lot of effort into it, not least Kirsty, and it was lovely. I also got a leaving gift of £60, which everyone had donated towards. £60! Amazing! How kind.
And so brings to an end my last day at the paper. While one edition is closed, another opens.*
Wow, that was a really crap ending wasn’t it? Apologies.
